


Spicing Things Up

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [70]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 09:23:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17383919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “You are the hottest thing I have seen in my entire life,” Jared says honestly, and Bryce doesn’t open his eyes, tips his face away like he can’t handle hearing it. “Seriously,” Jared says, all control of his mouth gone. “I can’t fucking believe—”“Stop talking,” Bryce grits out, but like he wants the exact opposite.





	Spicing Things Up

Jared doesn’t know what is up with temporality, but 2017 comes roaring towards him, and it shows no signs of slowing down once it’s arrived. When they get back to Calgary Bryce almost immediately has to leave town, but that’s mostly fine because Jared’s swept off in a whirlwind of post-Christmas family events, so he wouldn’t have had a chance to see him much anyway. His kiss on New Year’s is on his grandmother’s cheek, ears still ringing hard from Erin blowing a noisemaker right at him, the asshole.

It isn’t the most auspicious start to a new year, but Jared’s not superstitious, so.

After the long ass break, Jared’s relieved to get to strap his skates on again, take the ice, go back to dominating everyone else. Which sounds arrogant, but the Hitmen go undefeated in their first four games back, Jared stacking assist after assist. Which he feels great about, but also kind of terrible, because Bryce’s play is struggling a little right now, and it’s clearly getting to him. Bryce struggling is still more productive than most guys at their best, but it’s the worst time for it, because Calgary went into the new year with both of their top pairing D injured, and the goaltending is currently, well — not the best. The Flames go 1-4-1 during the Hitmen’s win streak, and Jared knows he shouldn’t feel guilty, that it’s stupid to feel guilty, but he still does.

It doesn’t help that Bryce is like, the most supportive boyfriend ever, genuinely happy for him, and Jared suspects he’d be less generous if he was facing a streak like that on his end. He wonders if Bryce is still going to be like that when Jared’s on the Oilers. It’s probably harder to be happy that your boyfriend’s team is doing well when they’re a divisional rival fighting you for a playoff spot. Not that the Oilers have been much of an opponent in recent years, this one included, so maybe he still would be. Easier to be magnanimous in victory.

Though maybe that’s just Jared. Honestly, Bryce is a much nicer person than he is when it comes down to it. He proves that pretty clearly after they have the rare game at the same time, Bryce calling after going minus three with only two shots on net and two penalty minutes to show he was on the ice (well, and the minuses). Jared flinched so hard looking at the Flames boxscore after the game Sam asked him who died, but you can’t tell how Bryce played from the way he sounds, voice warm when he congratulates Jared for his game-winner.

“Why are you a good person,” Jared complains, and Bryce huffs a laugh, soft, but a little tired sounding now that Jared’s listening closely. Jared can picture him right now, back in his hotel room, exhausted from the game, another loss, talking to the media that keeps blaming it all on him, like Bryce scoring a goal or two would make any difference when they’re losing by like, _four_. Yeah, they’re having offence problems right now, but you can’t point your finger at that when the goalie let in six that night. They probably did anyway. He’s pretty sure he’s not imagining the hate-on the media has for Bryce — every time he slips even a little, they pounce, and they don’t do that with any of the other Flames. 

“Couldn’t watch your game,” Bryce says apologetically, like he wasn’t actively playing a game of his own at the time. “Tell me about it?”

Jared does the best he can, and he doesn’t know how to respond to Bryce’s quiet ‘thanks’, when he’s wrapped it up, like Jared’s done something important for him.

The Flames get better, as Jared was expecting — and hoping, hoping _so hard_ , because he hates Bryce looking defeated. He’s not nearly as good at hiding it as he thinks he is, at least when they’re in the same place and it’s written down into his bones, posture slumped and awful. The Hitmen hit a skid just as the Flames start to rebound, a bunch of shit luck on the injury front, because apparently they can’t be successful at the same time. Jared’s trying to be philosophical about it. You can’t control how injured your team is, and the Hitmen have been coasting so much this season that even skidding the rest of the way still wouldn’t let them miss the playoffs.

Jared is not superstitious, he is not — 

He knocks on wood.

Bryce smirks, “You just thought about the playoffs or something, didn’t you?” he asks.

“No,” Jared lies, and Bryce just keeps on smirking.

*

The Flames have mostly course-corrected by the tail end of January, one of their D back, neither goalie sub .900 in the last few, Bryce doing his stupid hot ‘score all the goals’ thing again. They’d almost slipped out of contention in a space of weeks, but they’re climbing the standings again. As a Flames fan, Jared’s happy about it. As someone who shares an apartment with a newly happy Bryce, he’s overjoyed. Jared’s hardly exempt from his feelings getting tied into his season, but he tends to get pissed off if they’re doing poorly, not like — tragic. Tragic Bryce hurts him. 

As February arrives, a bunch of Hitmen start mumbling, agitated, about Valentine’s, the guys still in high school the most worried, and Jared is simultaneously amused by their terror — Davis spent like half an hour debating the merits of roses versus something less ‘traditional’ and also ‘not fifty fucking bucks’ with Greg — and also suddenly terrified, because Bryce.

“No Valentine’s Day presents,” Jared says basically the second he gets in the door that night.

“But,” Bryce protests.

Jared stares him down.

“Chocolate?” Bryce attempts.

Jared thinks it over. “Normal chocolate, not Godiva or some shit.”

“Godiva’s not even that expensive,” Bryce mutters, like the millionaire he is.

“No Godiva,” Jared says, to make things absolutely clear.

Bryce scowls deeply. “Fine,” he says.

*

Bryce doesn’t get him anything in the end — ‘why bother with chocolate if it’s not _good_ chocolate’, he said under his breath, like Jared refusing to accept expensive chocolates personally wounded him — except, well. Jared’s sure it’s a cliche for a reason that people get each other like, lingerie or sex toys or whatever for Valentine’s. Spice up the relationship. Not that their relationship or sex life needs any spicing, necessarily, it is doing _just fine_ , but Bryce kind of brings out the big guns that night. Well, okay, the night before, because Bryce is leaving town on Valentine’s itself.

Jared honestly doesn’t know if it’s a Valentine’s thing or just a coincidence, extension of the fact they’ve been slowly branching out in bed both accessory wise — Jared likes the handcuffs better on Bryce than himself, and Bryce seems to agree, but it was still a good time, even if it’s kind of annoying not to be able to touch — and like, just…well. Bryce still doesn’t want to fuck him, which is okay, Jared means it, but he’s grown pretty confident adding a finger or two to a blowjob, and even though he gets like, bashful if Jared does the same, he also demonstrably enjoys it, so. 

This is a very long-winded way of saying that Bryce’s increasing comfort with fingers is apparently extending into said accessory front, because mid makeout he breaks off to grab something from the bedside table, before solemnly handing Jared their smaller vibrator and then, ears so red they look like they’re about to catch fire, mumbles that maybe if Jared wanted to um, stick it in him that’d be…okay.

Which is an invitation Jared is _absolutely_ not turning down.

Jared doesn’t rush into it or anything, goes back to kissing him. Bryce like, loves it, and Jared…possibly also loves it, so unless they’ve been away from each other for awhile or they’re short on time, making out before fucking is like, a thing. Even if it wasn’t, the tension that’s threaded through Bryce’s body right now is so obvious Jared can feel it everywhere they’re touching, so Jared kisses him until his mouth is red, a little stubble burned, the hair he spends so long on a mess from Jared’s fingers, eyes fat pupil. The tension’s not entirely gone, but it isn’t as obvious as before, as obvious as Bryce’s dick hard against his hip, the head hot and fat in Jared’s mouth after they strip and Jared decides to take some initiative.

“Jared,” Bryce complains. “I told you—”

“I was just saying hi,” Jared says after pulling off, kisses his hip, the inside of his thigh, laughs when he looks up to see Bryce’s scowling face, tries not to laugh harder when Bryce hands him the vibrator, the bottle of lube with a straight-up determined expression, because that, he’s pretty sure, is something Bryce doesn’t want him laughing at. He’s cool with Jared laughing at him with some things — Jared thinks sometimes he pouts just to get Jared to laugh — but this, this definitely wouldn’t be one of them.

“Did you want fingers first, or,” Jared says.

“I just,” Bryce says. “Can you just do it?”

“Bryce,” Jared says. “If you don’t actually want—”

“I do,” Bryce says, “I just—”

“Just?” Jared prompts.

“Just, fuck, put it in, okay?” Bryce says.

“You sure?” Jared asks.

“Do it,” Bryce says, and he doesn’t sound — he sounds like he doesn’t want it, almost, the way he’s saying it, reluctant, but he wouldn’t ask if he didn’t. Jared thinks the actual asking for it is more of a problem for him than anything else, this negative inversion thing where the more he wants something the harder it seems to be for him to ask for it, so Jared takes him at his word.

The vibrator’s small, not that much wider than one of Jared’s fingers, so less than he’s taken before, but Bryce breathes in fast when Jared nudges it in, shiny with lube. And it’s not the vibration or anything — it’s not even on yet. 

“Is it too big, or—” Jared asks.

“S’fine,” Bryce mumbles. “Cold.”

“Sorry,” Jared says.

It’s just — a really fucking pretty picture, Bryce’s hole tight around the vibrator, the long tight stretch of his abs. Less so the way he’s got one arm slung over his eyes, like he’s hiding.

“Hey,” Jared says. “Look at me?”

It takes a second for Bryce to drop the arm, but he does eventually.

“You good?” Jared asks, and Bryce nods, just a tiny dip of the head.

Jared turns it on, and the sound Bryce makes —

God, Jared wants in him so bad.

“Can I fuck you with it?” Jared asks, almost shocked at the question leaving his mouth, and Bryce’s eyes squeeze shut like he is too, before he nods, tight. Every time Jared pushes it in, slow, his fingers brush the thin skin of his rim, and he started slow for Bryce, but he keeps going slow for himself, lingering, because he’s enjoying this too much, the sound Bryce makes when the vibrator’s pressed against his prostate, the way he nudges his hips back when Jared’s gently pulling it out, like he’s trying to keep it inside him.

“You are the hottest thing I have seen in my entire life,” Jared says honestly, and Bryce doesn’t open his eyes, tips his face away like he can’t handle hearing it. “Seriously,” Jared says, all control of his mouth gone. “I can’t fucking believe—”

“Stop talking,” Bryce grits out, but like he wants the exact opposite, doesn’t want Jared to ever stop telling him how fucking _amazing_ he is, and it’s so easy — it’s hard usually, Jared doesn’t know why, but — it’s so easy right now, Bryce’s cheeks stained pink and abs going tight every time Jared gets it as deep as he can, and Jared runs his mouth the whole fucking time until Bryce finally shuts him up, mouth against his, fingers digging into Jared’s shoulders, too tight, as Jared ratchets the setting up just a little higher, keeping it against his prostate as he gets a hand around Bryce’s cock, sticky wet and leaking, and it’s kind of stunning how fast Bryce comes, body shivering against his until Jared thinks to turn the vibrator off, pull it out.

It takes Bryce a while to settle, looks kind of like he got knocked over the head with it, probably looks exactly the way Jared looked after the first time Bryce broke the curve on blowjobs, something caught between broken and revelatory. Jared is…a little jealous right now, because a vibrator did that, but also like, painfully into it, and everything about Bryce, so.

“Let me fuck your thighs,” Jared says, mouth running away with him again. The words come out pleading. Bryce doesn’t say anything, but after a moment he rolls onto his belly, which sure as shit isn’t a no. Jared grabs the lube with an unsteady hand, probably pours out too much, his dick practically dripping with it when he fucks between Bryce’s muscular thighs, watching the blushing red back of Bryce’s neck, that ass he can’t help gravitate towards, the hand that isn’t bracing himself on the bed getting a handful — well, it’s more than a handful, his ass is _insane_. 

Jared’s quiet, for once, mouth at least, because his brain isn’t, really, all wrapped up in cataloguing sensation; the almost stifling press of unyielding muscle, Bryce’s body carved out into the shape it needs for hockey, no excess anywhere, everything tight and slick and Jared can’t stop thinking about what it’d be like in him, this but more, and —

It takes him a minute to compose himself after he comes, walk into the bathroom with unsteady coltish legs to wet a washcloth, getting stuck in the doorway just looking at the mess he’s made of Bryce. He wasn’t lying or exaggerating: Bryce is definitely the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his entire life, and it’s kind of insane that, of all people, it’s _him_ Bryce lets look his fill.

He finally shakes himself out of it, because Bryce is like, covered in lube and come, and that’s on him, so maybe he should be getting on that before a shower becomes necessary.

“I can do it,” Bryce mumbles, when he does, though he’s not making any moves to actually do it. 

“I’m sure you can,” Jared says. “But I made the mess, so.”

Bryce snorts, but he lets Jared finish wiping his thighs off, has rolled onto his back by the time Jared comes back from tossing the cloth in the sink, one arm out, almost pointed, like Jared better be putting his head on that shoulder, or else.

Jared has no objections to that, so he makes himself comfortable, pressing a kiss to Bryce’s jaw. Obviously the best part of sex is sex, but the quiet afterglow, skin still buzzing as he presses himself against Bryce everywhere they can touch, like his body can’t get enough of him — that’s pretty good too. 

“If you wanted,” Bryce says after a minute of comfortable silence, voice shot to hell. “Next time.”

He doesn’t say anything else.

“Yeah?” Jared asks, half prompting, half confirming what he thinks Bryce is saying, or maybe just hopes he is.

Bryce nods, tiny, ears gone red again.

“Seriously,” Jared says. “Did I mention that you’re just, the hottest person in the entire world, and that I—”

“Stop,” Bryce interrupts. His tone’s a complaint, but that shy smile of his is tugging at the corners of his mouth as he says it, and it’s sweet against Jared’s lips when he leans in to kiss him.


End file.
